


Warmth

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: AU, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop, sap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:45:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2298620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some sappy schmoopy sappy fluffy stuff, from the TFA Inamorato AU.   For those unfamiliar with the AU, Wing's a monk who works in the bar/brothel, and Drift is being trained by Dai Atlas, who has taken over Yoketron's Dojo in his own special way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warmth

Drift froze at the sudden band of arms around him, then relaxed, recognizing the red wrists as Wing’s. He’d been painting the outside of Dai Atlas’s dojo compound—probably badly—and he was aware he was hot from exertion, and had at least one smear of paint from when he’d dropped the roller on his face. Not exactly how he wanted to be seen by the sleek, beautiful jet, but he wasn’t going to push Wing away.

He could use a hug. He could just about always find use for a hug, really, and he let himself relax a little back into the circle of the jet’s arms. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Wing said, his voice like sunshine in Drift’s audio. Never mind that sunshine didn’t have a sound. It was Wing. He could do anything.

“I’m kind of dirty,” Drift said, apologetic. He’d hate to get some of his paint on Wing. Well, not that way. That way he wouldn’t mind. In fact, it was really hard to not think about that right now.

“I wash off!” Wing said, brightly, as though this was some unique feature he had, that made him immune to anything. It was his own special brand of determination—Drift’s was far more of the head down, dentae gritted. But Wing’s was so much lighter and easier, like air, like was, and Drift was more like, well, probably a rock.

It was impossible, at least as far as Drift was concerned, not to respond to that, his spark seeming to twist in his chassis. Wing was like bright, beautiful sunshine, and sometimes, like now, he felt that the sun was shining on, and for, him alone.

It made him feel worthy. It made him feel special. And he leaned himself into the circle of arms, just letting himself, for a moment, enjoy.

“Painting, huh?” Wing’s voice was a delicious hum against Drift’s audio. He nodded and felt the hug tighten around him. “You work so hard, Drift.”

He did. And it felt so good it almost hurt to have someone recognize it. “You didn’t come to watch me work, though.”

“I should,” Wing said. “But you’re right. I have news!”

“Good news?”

Drift could feel the wriggle behind him. “I think so! I’m getting a promotion at work!”

“A promotion, huh?” Drift hadn’t been too keen on the last ‘promotion’ to dancer at Inamorato. But this had to be better. Maybe bartending?

“Yes! Madam Arcee says so many people have been asking about my, erm, availability, and she’s offered me a position as an escort!”

It felt like the world fell apart, like some kind of giant black hole, with evil tentacles, gaped suddenly under Drift’s feet, and he was falling into it, even though he could still feel Wing’s arms around him.

“E-e-escort?" The word seemed to grate its way out of his vocalizer, two syllables made of broken glass.

He felt the nod. "Madame Arcee says she'll help train me, too! So I know what I'm doing!"

Drift felt sick. Just the thought, even of the pink femme touching Wing...it made him angry and despairing both at once. ".....oh."

The arms loosened around him, Wing slipping around to face him, gold optics dim with worry. "You...don't sound happy?"

Happy? How could he....but how could he ruin Wing's obvious joy with his selfishness? "I. I mean, that's great. I'm really happy. For you." He wanted to run and punch things and maybe cry. He forced himself to stand still, pasting a smile on his face. "Thanks for, uh, telling me." Just please, he added mentally, don’t hurt yourself stepping on the shards of my spark.

“I didn’t just tell you to tell you, though.” Wing cycled a deep breath, almost like he was bracing himself. “I...wanted to ask you something.”

“Me?”

Wing nodded, his fingertips lingering down Drift’s arm, his optics tracking the movement. “Madame Arcee said--and I agree--that, well, your first time should be with someone special. And.” A smile, but not the bright confident one Drift was used to from him, “You are the most special person to me. But, you don’t have to if you don’t want to?”

It was too much all at once--the offer, and the fact that Wing, with the way his pinions fluttered, restless, was actually worried Drift might reject him.

Drift couldn’t even make words. Not coherent ones, anyway. All that came out of his vocalizer was a sort of hiccuping blorp, before he decided to give up on all that and just nod. And nod. And nod some more, trying to push all of his eagerness, all of his want and desire and love, into the gesture. Maybe it wasn’t how it should be, maybe it wasn’t how he’d fantasized it would happen, but it was happening and real Wing and real...touch, was better than anything his fantasy could fill in.

And Wing’s smile, the way it bloomed across his face like the most beautiful sunrise in the world, was better than anything. “T-thank you, Drift.” Drift found himself pulled into a hug, so tight his shoulders squeaked. “Tonight? No, no,” Wing said, thinking aloud. “Too soon. We need--I need--to prepare. Is tomorrow night good?”

It would have been good if Drift had to flip the world on its head. It couldn’t be too soon for him, but he knew the extra day would be...a day of floating for him, his spark bursting in his chassis. But it was good anyway, because Dai Atlas had a meeting tomorrow night. He’d be gone, and Drift would be free. More than free. “Perfect,” he said, barely daring to breathe the word. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but Wing was too real in his arms, against his cheek, for it not to be. Wing wanted to give himself to others, and that hurt beyond Drift’s small stock of words, but Wing wanted him, held him as special, wanted to give him this wonderful, unique prize of himself.

And the kiss on his mouth, warm and passionate and promising, was like a taste of heaven, sealing something beautiful between them.


End file.
